


Memories of the Mojave

by CorsairLord



Category: Fallout: DUST, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Despair, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 01:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19819729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsairLord/pseuds/CorsairLord
Summary: Memories and thoughts of the few survivors who live in the Mojave following the outbreak of the Cloud and the massive duststorm that spread it across the American Southwest.Based on the fantastic overhaul of Fallout: New Vegas, Fallout: DUST





	Memories of the Mojave

He really fucking hated President Oliver. He decided that after the fifth day of being trapped in Camp McCarran. That had been four years ago. Place could barely be called a camp anymore, so many ferals had taken over. Most of the troops lived atop the walls now, or in the guard towers. They still honored the chain of command in terms of respect and orders, but only to a point. Nowadays, no one kept uniform or firearm code, no one gave a shit about fraternization, and no one gave two fucks about any radio transmissions from the Strip MPs-because of course those fucks survived-or the recent detachment from the expedition headed by that crazy bitch Bernard. They could order him around all they wanted, he didn't give a shit. He already knew his orders: Watch the skies for a break, keep his buddies alive, and hope to God that Kimball was dead. 

"Hey, Mattson."

"Yeah, Wallace?" 

"I think I'm going to shoot myself later."

"No you're not, you still wanna fuck Vallely before we all die."

"Shit you're right. Hey, check it. One of the Battle Rams on the road. Think I can pop that bitch from here?" 

"Your ammo you're using. Bet ya a smoke and shot of whiskey you can't."

"Sounds good to me."

As Wallace's 5.56 ripped through the Battle Ram's ram skull and actual skull, Mattson shook his head before he walked into his guard tower he, Wallace, Burgh and Harland had claimed.

He'd gladly raise a glass and smoke his few last cigarettes with his buddy. After all, he needed somebody to toast a good ol' 'Fuck Oliver and Fuck His Heavies too.' with.

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She had volunteered to go to the Mojave with Bernard on her expedition to clear that monster Royst's name, because it's what her uncle would have done. She did it because Elizabeth had worried privately that Royst might walk free if they actually found something in the Mojave. She did it because she thought that because she was a Ranger that she would be fine in the Mojave. 

She had been a fucking idiot.

The Mojave was a deathtrap, hell on earth and a monument to humanity's amazing ability to destroy themselves all ground up and sprinkled across the land. Her first week had barely passed before her group had been cut down to twenty at Black Mountain. After the first month, she realized they'd trapped themselves on the Mountain. The only ways down blocked by ferals, cannibals, mutants or deserters who wanted them dead for what they'd endured. She was quick with her gun, and even quicker with her knife, but she knew they were fighting a losing battle. For every feral charge or deserter raid, they lost at least one trooper and that was one too many. Eventually she would be the one. 

It didn't help that the supply Vertibird had stopped coming from California to Golf to Black Mountain, or that Camp Golf was apparently penned in on all sides by cannibals, remnants of the Legion, and Tunnelers. Or that Elizabeth had apparently already written her off. She hoped that the runner had died rather than for her friend to simply abandon her. 

But somehow she knew that Elizabeth wanted justice or rather, vengeance more than anything. If Royst had taken anyone else as a test subject fifteen years ago, Elizabeth wouldn't be so hellbent on making him suffer. But he hadn't. He took Elizabeth's entire family while she was studying in the Boneyard. 

"Trooper Erasmus."

"That's Ranger Erasmus, Vargas. I know you know that, so call me by the title I earned or I'll make sure it's the only word you'll remember after I get done with you."

"Ranger Erasmus. I require assistance in opening up this Super Mutant. You're the only one capable of cutting through the specimen's bones without using one of the Rippers."

"Seriously? Why can't you use one of the Rippers?" 

"Dr. Bernard has banned their use due to the noise they generate because of the ferals attraction to it."

"Tch, fine. This better be for a good reason and not just because you're curious."

As she walked over to the mutant's corpse, she couldn't help but wonder when she'd be the one being autopsied because they ran out of viable subjects.

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End file.
